Lingering Questions
by cheride
Summary: A brief trip through Mark's time with Hardcastle as the young man tries to figure out, Why me?.


_Lingering questions- cheride_

_Rating: G_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

**A/N:** _Each of these vignettes is set following an aired episode, so I thought I should cite them. They are as follows: Man in a Glass House; The Georgia Street Motors; Undercover McCormick; Hardcastle for Mayor; A Chip Off the Ol' Milt._

The sun was setting on the Pacific Ocean, and a cool evening breeze blew over the pool on the Gulls Way estate. On the deck, Milton Hardcastle and Mark McCormick were stretched out in lounge chairs, each holding a cold bottle of beer.

The two men sat silently, each reflecting on the last couple of days. Just this morning, they had wrapped up the business with Joe Cadillac, and each of them had gained some insight about the other, though each also realized this particular case may have raised more questions than it answered.

McCormick, the ex-convict who had recently been paroled into Judge Hardcastle's custody, was still feeling his way in this unusual situation, but it felt good sitting here in the approaching darkness with this man. As difficult as it was to believe, it just felt right. He thought this might be a good time to ask a couple of questions that had been weighing on his mind. He took a long drink of his beer, and spoke.

"Judge, can I ask you something?"

The serious tone caused Hardcastle to turn and face and the younger man. "Almost anything," he replied cautiously, slightly concerned with the questions McCormick might have right about now.

The ex-con heard the hesitation, and knew immediately what the judge feared. But, as much as he'd like to know more about Hardcastle's son, he didn't intend to pry into that subject. "It's not really anything personal, Judge," he assured him. "At least, not for you."

Hardcastle smiled slightly and turned back to watch the sunset. "Okay, then. Shoot."

"Why did you send me to prison?" McCormick worked hard to keep the accusation from his tone, somehow knowing that the current mood of relaxation was tenuous, and to disrupt it would eliminate the possibility of an answer.

The judge continued to stare across the ocean, and tried to decide on an answer. He'd already lost track of the number of times he had given this information to McCormick, but never in quite this fashion. At various times, the kid had dealt with the topic by being angry, funny, and even whiny, but never had he simply posed a calm and rational question. Hardcastle thought he probably deserved an honest answer, but knew it wouldn't go over well.

"Like I told you before, kid, I didn't convict you; I'm just the one who got to break the news to you about jail time. I know you don't wanna believe this, but it could've been a lot worse. I went easy on you.

"As for why you were convicted...the car wasn't yours, McCormick. No matter how many ways you try to get around that, it isn't gonna change."

McCormick took another drink of beer and forced down the anger. He had hoped for a different answer, though he honestly wasn't certain there was anything the judge could say that would satisfy him.

"Okay, Hardcase, I'll settle for that...for now. Just one other question." He paused, then, "Why did you bring me here? There's lots of cons, Judge. Why me?"

Hardcastle took a drink of his own beer. What had gotten into this kid tonight? This question was harder than the first, and there was no way he was going to try and explain himself to McCormick. If it hadn't been for the way the kid had walked into Carlton's office this morning and confessed to breaking into the police impound lot, this conversation would've come to a screeching halt several minutes ago. But, better late than never.

"I'll tell you the truth, McCormick," the judge responded gruffly, "there's plenty of times I don't know _why_ you're here. And if you keep up with these questions, you won't be much longer."

McCormick understood immediately that he had pushed too far, too soon. But he was unwilling to spoil the unusually calm moment, so he simply allowed a small smile to play across his face as he focused his own attention on the setting sun. "I got it, Judge," he answered. "Sorry."

The men sat silently, side by side, until the sun had completely disappeared from view.

* * *

Hardcastle punched the power button on the television remote and tossed it aside in disgust. "How can we have a hundred and fifty channels and still have nothing to watch?" he complained.

McCormick just laughed. "Not everyone looks for a twenty four hour John Wayne channel, you know, Judge. Most people like a little variety from time to time."

"What do you know about most people, McCormick?" the judge demanded.

McCormick grinned, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and started tossing the kernels into his mouth one by one. "You know," he said suddenly, "you should probably get word to Morton. Tell him it's safe to accept his parole now."

"Maybe we should wait until Parnell and the others are convicted," Hardcastle suggested.

"You know as well as I do that could take a long time, Hardcase. Morton could be a free man." He laughed again. "And I bet his parole officer won't leave him for dead out in the middle of nowhere just to try and arrest some crooked judges."

McCormick saw the brief flicker of emotion on Hardcastle's face, and knew immediately he shouldn't tease about this. They had been through quite a few scrapes in the time since he had come to live at Gulls Way, and Hardcastle had been responsible for most of the danger McCormick had ever found himself in. But this latest case had been different; the judge had been more worried than McCormick could remember. And though he had joked about it at the time, he thought now he should cut the old guy a break. At least on this subject. Maybe Hardcase would be softened up enough to talk about something else.

"Judge?"

Hardcastle glanced over at the suddenly somber tone. "What's up, kid?"

"You know, when we went to see Morton at the prison, it was kind of weird for me...brought back a lot of memories."

"I'm sure it did," the judge answered uncertainly.

"I'd still like to know why you sent me up, Judge." McCormick spoke quietly, without anger, and watched Hardcastle closely.

"McCormick, we have been over this about a million times. The answer is never gonna change. The Porsche wasn't yours; you gave up your rights to it the minute you signed it over to Ms. Marshall. Besides, if your story is absolutely true, you really did get off easy. You get a lot less time for grand theft auto than you do for insurance fraud. One way or the other, I did you a favor, McCormick."

'_Not bad'_, McCormick thought to himself. He grinned at the older man. "Just keep telling yourself that, Judge." He shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth and watched as Hardcastle did the same. After a moment, he launched the second half of his inquiry.

"And was bringing me to live with you another favor, Hardcastle? How'd I get so lucky? Why me?"

"It was a steady process of elimination, McCormick," Hardcastle growled. "The top candidates weren't cuttin' it, so I had to go to the second string.

"Now, you wanna zip your lip before I take you back out to that field and leave you for good?"

McCormick grinned again, thinking he had been foolish to believe anything would soften this old donkey. He grabbed another pile of popcorn and the remote. "_I'll_ find us something to watch, Judge."

* * *

"You know, the next time I get a medal from the police commissioner, I'm leaving you home," McCormick complained as he steered the Coyote along the PCH toward Malibu.

"Quit your whining," Hardcastle ordered from the passenger seat. "You got your medal, didn't ya? And you'll probably get your picture in the paper, too, so..."

"Yeah," McCormick grinned, "I can see the headline now: **Ex-Con Saves Crime Lord**. That oughta make me real popular with the ladies." He thought for a moment. "It was kinda strange, wasn't it? I mean, protecting the bad guy and arresting the cops?"

"No, McCormick, that wasn't the strange part. What was strange was _you_ as a _cop_. I'll probably have nightmares about that for a long time."

McCormick pretended to be hurt. "I think I handled myself just fine, thank you very much. Besides, you said I wouldn't make a bad cop."

"I just said that to be nice," Hardcastle told him.

"What's the matter? Don't think I'm good enough to wear the old home team uniform?"

"I think first you'd have to explain how you managed to get yourself sent to prison a couple of years back," Hardcastle said lightly.

"I'd just tell them to ask you." McCormick glanced quickly at the judge to make certain the laughter was still in his eyes, and then continued. "What would you tell them, anyway?"

"About why you got sent to prison? I'd just tell them dumb kids make dumb mistakes. And then I'd tell them that even dumb mistakes have consequences, but I minimized those consequences as much as possible."

"And when they asked why you wanted that same dumb kid to come live and work with you....what would you tell them then, Hardcase?"

Hardcastle looked over at the young man sternly. "They would know better than to ask, kiddo," was the only response.

McCormick shook his head with a smile. One of these days, he'd get an answer to his question.

* * *

McCormick reached behind the bench seat and pulled out a campaign poster.

"What are you doing with that thing?" Hardcastle demanded.

"It's a souvenir," McCormick replied with a grin as he started toward the gatehouse. "I've got a button, too," he continued as he led the way inside.

"Don't know why you'd want a souvenir of my being made a fool of," the judge grumbled. "Or maybe that's the attraction?"

McCormick glanced at him sharply. "Don't be stupid, Hardcase." He lightened his tone immediately. "Besides, you joined the campaign for all the right reasons, and you did fine. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

McCormick smiled as he carried his poster upstairs. For him, the campaign would probably always be remembered for one press conference and a single question. When Hardcastle had publicly defended his friendship with the ex-con, McCormick had thought his heart might just explode, and if that didn't warrant a souvenir, what did?

He continued the conversation as he started back downstairs to rejoin the judge. "I told you I'd vote for you, ya know."

"**_If _**you could vote, you mean?" Hardcastle countered.

"Well...yeah. Maybe you could run for office again in a few months," McCormick suggested with a smile.

"Which reminds me of something I wanna talk to you about, hotshot. Come over here and sit down a minute."

The smile faded slightly from the ex-convict's face as he heard the tone. '_What now?' _he thought, as he sat and faced the judge.

"You know I appreciate your help with figuring out Austin's murder," Hardcastle began.

"Don't start with the gratitude and compliments, Hardcase," McCormick instructed. "It's not you, and it makes me nervous. Just tell me what I did wrong, I'll fix it, and we'll move on."

"I already told you, but I think we need to talk about it some more. You can't keep going around burglarizing offices, kiddo, no matter what the reason. Do you know how long you're gonna be away if you screw up your parole now?"

"So you wanna put me back inside, Judge?" McCormick joked.

"No," Hardcastle insisted, "I don't, which is the whole point. I don't _ever_ want you back inside, McCormick, so you've got to promise me you'll behave yourself."

McCormick smirked. "I'll be good, Judge," he promised. "But seeing as how the last time I went down it was for driving my own car, I don't know that I think my behavior actually has a lot to do with my freedom."

"Are we starting with that again?"

"I'm still waiting for an explanation that makes sense, Hardcase."

Hardcastle sighed deeply. "You didn't have any legal claim to the car, kiddo. Neither one of us could change that, no matter how much we might've wanted to. And I really did cut you some slack on the sentencing. At some point, you're gonna have to accept that."

McCormick just stared, not yet ready to admit that he had accepted that a long time ago. He wanted to ask the second question, but he hesitated as he rarely had before. He hadn't brought it up for quite a while...certainly not since they had returned from Oregon...and things were sort of different now. Somehow, it had been easier to harass the judge when they were less open about their true feelings. Now that Hardcastle was sort of coming around, McCormick felt like he had to be more careful with the old guy's feelings. But still...

"And am I also just gonna have to accept the fact that I'll never know why you picked me to play Tonto, Judge, or do you think you might actually tell me someday? I mean, even if you just wanted someone to keep you company," he saw Hardcastle's face begin to cloud over, and rushed on, "which I don't think is actually true, it still could've been a lot of people. How'd I end up at the top of the list?"

Hardcastle stared wordlessly at the sincere face in front of him. How many times was the kid going to put him through this? And, how many times was he going to be able to dodge the bullet? It's not that he was unwilling to share the answer—not anymore, anyway. It's just that, even after almost three years, he still didn't completely _know_ the answer. He honestly didn't know how that was possible, but it was definitely true. He decided maybe he could use that truth to get the kid off his back.

"I'll tell you, McCormick, I don't really know what made me pick you instead of someone else. Maybe it was all in the timing...no one else was in my courtroom about to head off back to the house of many doors.

"But here's a question for you, kiddo. Why'd you say yes? And why'd you stay?"

McCormick grinned. He was surprised it had taken the judge this long to actually get around to throwing the questions back in his face. "You know why I said yes, Judge; you said we could go after Cody first. As for why I stayed..." McCormick hesitated, suddenly understanding the discomfort he had put Hardcastle through each time he started this conversation. But, the answer was simple, really. Besides, he figured the judge knew it anyway, and was just trying to derail the conversation.

McCormick shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. "I stayed because I said I would, Judge," he said simply. "You kept your part of the deal, I kept mine."

Hardcastle nodded as he rose from the chair and started for the door. "Fair enough, kid. Now you need to get changed and get after some of your chores."

"Okay, Hardcase," McCormick agreed good-naturedly. "But, hey..."

Hardcastle glanced around from the doorway. "What?"

"Don't think I didn't notice that I still didn't get an answer."

McCormick laughed as he saw the grim expression settle on Hardcastle's face just before the door slammed.

* * *

Mark McCormick sat in the last of the afternoon sun, looking over the rolling lawn of Gulls Way, and beyond to the sparkling blue water of the ocean. He smiled to himself as he reflected on the sense of peace that filled his soul. He was glad he had finally told Hardcastle the truth about law school, glad things were going to be okay at Sunset Acres, and glad Mimi was happy in her new home. And he was very glad to be settled back into the gatehouse where he belonged.

"Where I belong," he muttered to himself with a shake of the head. Unbelievable.

If anyone had asked him three years ago where he belonged, McCormick was pretty certain he wouldn't have been able to come up with any answer whatsoever. Maybe in a racecar, but that would've been as close as he was likely to get to feeling like he belonged anywhere. And if anyone had been crazy enough to suggest that he belonged _here_, playing the faithful sidekick to Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, he would have personally called the men in white jackets to haul that poor, misguided soul right off to la-la land.

And yet, when he had left the estate to go off and start his own life, he had felt more alone than he had in a long, long time. If he had not known before, he had certainly learned then that he had found his place in this world, no matter how unlikely that place seemed.

As he sat soaking up the approaching evening breeze, the object of his thoughts walked onto the deck carrying two brown bottles. "Beer?" Hardcastle asked, offering one of the drinks.

"Thanks, Judge," McCormick smiled, hoping the older man would somehow understand he meant for more than the beer.

Hardcastle stretched himself out on the lounge chair next to McCormick's on the deck. He sipped his beer and gazed out at the slowly setting sun, more content than he had been lately. He was glad the kid was home.

On the other hand, he also had a small sense of sadness in his heart as he thought that they were approaching the end of an era. He knew it wasn't going to be possible to keep working cases like they had with McCormick going to school; he still didn't know how the kid had managed it as long as he had. He glanced over at his young friend and found McCormick staring at him, a deep affection shining in the blue eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts?" McCormick said softly.

Hardcastle smiled slightly and turned his head back to stare across the ocean. "I was just thinking that you're gonna be pretty busy with your schoolwork. And your chores, of course. We're gonna need to cut way back on our case load."

"Probably eventually," McCormick agreed. "But not right away. I'm doing okay right now. The work is important, too, Judge."

Hardcastle closed his eyes briefly, feeling the gratitude was over him. He should've expected that McCormick would know he wasn't ready to really retire just yet.

McCormick watched his mentor in the twilight and wondered for at least the millionth time how he had been lucky enough to end up here. He had tried so many times to get Hardcastle to tell him why he had been chosen, but the old guy had been at his donkey best on the subject. Now that they were moving into a different phase in their relationship, he was going to try one more time to get an answer. After this, he would never ask again. He prepared himself with a long swig from his bottle, then spoke.

"Judge?"

Hardcastle didn't turn. He had been certain before he walked out to the patio this evening that McCormick would get around to his favorite questions, so the solemn tone didn't surprise him in the least. Of course, he still wasn't sure exactly what he'd say, but he had vowed to himself he would try to give the kid an answer once and for all. "What's on your mind, kid?"

"Well..." McCormick chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Maybe it was already too late for this. Whatever the judge might say, it wasn't going to change anything, anyway. And, of course, it remained a possibility that the truth would hurt. Maybe he should just let it go. "Nothing really, Judge," he finally replied. "Everything's good."

"Everything is definitely good," Hardcastle agreed, "but let me take a stab at the questions on your mind: I think you're still trying to figure out why."

McCormick grinned. He wasn't sure when Hardcastle had developed the ability to actually read his mind, but sometimes it could be handy. "Yeah, Judge, I am. But I'll tell you something: I've quit wondering about the prison thing. We're never really gonna agree on that, but I do believe you were more lenient than you had to be. And, if I've never said it before, I appreciate that."

Hardcastle did turn then, and gaped at the man sitting by his side. After their recent conversation in the jail cell, he would've thought it impossible for the kid to surprise him ever again. Clearly, he had been wrong about that.

McCormick laughed at the expression on the jurist's face; he figured he would always find joy in flabbergasting his friend. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked innocently.

When the judge still didn't speak, McCormick offered further explanation. "It was my car, Judge, and I know you know that. But I should never have signed it over to Melinda, and _I_ sure as hell know that now. It was a dumb mistake, but you told me once that even dumb mistakes have consequences. And, the other thing I know now is that those consequences could've been a whole lot worse. I didn't want to go to prison, Judge, but I'm grateful it was only two years instead of ten."

Hardcastle struggled to find his voice. He thought he had been prepared for this conversation, but he had never expected the turn it was now taking. He finally managed a hoarse reply. "You've got it all wrong, kiddo."

McCormick took another drink and forced himself to remain calm. He absolutely did not intend to start an argument tonight, but why could the old donkey not budge at least a little bit? "Don't start with me, Hardcase," he said softly. "I told you we won't ever agree on this, and I don't want to hear another lecture about right, wrong, and the law. I've accepted that you're never gonna think you were wrong; you need to accept that I will _always_ think you were. Just because I might understand that you were lenient in your sentence doesn't mean I believe there should've _been_ a sentence. It was my car, Judge, and I shouldn't have had to go to prison." McCormick placed his bottle back to his lips and hoped desperately that he hadn't spoiled the moment.

"You're right," Hardcastle replied, almost inaudibly.

McCormick choked on the beer flowing down his throat, and worked to keep it from spewing across the deck. "WHAT?" he demanded as he swung his legs to the ground and swiveled to face Hardcastle.

In spite of his discomfort, the judge smiled slightly. The kid wasn't the only one with surprises up his sleeve. He mirrored McCormick's motion and sat up to face his friend; this conversation probably needed to take place face to face. Besides, if the kid decided to punch him, he didn't want to be laying there completely defenseless. He met McCormick's eyes.

"I know it was your car, kiddo, and I know that Melinda Marshall took advantage of the situation."

"Then why...?"

Hardcastle held up his hand to stop McCormick's immediate question. "I know it _now_," he clarified, "because I know that you wouldn't lie to me, not even about this. Maybe _especially_ not about this. But I only suspected it then, and there wasn't a lot I could do with only suspicions. So, since I couldn't keep you out of prison, I did the only thing I could do, which was reduce your sentence."

"You could've..." McCormick thought for a moment, "...thrown out the verdict," he finally suggested.

"I almost did," Hardcastle admitted. He smiled at the total disbelief he saw in front of him. "Almost," he repeated with a shrug. "Your defense raised enough reasonable doubt, and Ms. Marshall wasn't the most unimpeachable witness; I could've justified it. But, with your record—and your attitude," he added pointedly, "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I settled for a lenient sentence. And, when you came up for parole, I recommended it be granted. The rest is history."

McCormick stared at the judge for several long minutes, trying to make sense of everything he had just heard—and everything he was feeling. Finally, he spoke.

"Are you trying to tell me you sent me to prison because of my **_mouth_**?" McCormick was incredulous, and the relative calm in his tone didn't disguise the lurking anger.

"Of course not, McCormick," Hardcastle blustered, "but I've told you a million times your smart ass remarks were gonna get you in trouble."

"Yeah, I know, Hardcastle, but I never knew you were speaking from first-hand experience. It's no wonder you had to keep sticking to your letter of the law routine whenever I asked about my case; if you'd told me this earlier I might've found someone to file an appeal. And if the decision was overturned, I would've been off parole and out of your custody, and what would you have done then?" McCormick's voice had risen steadily throughout his tirade, until the final question was literally shouted across the small distance that separated him from the judge. He locked his glowering eyes on the judge's pale blues, and waited for a response. The words that followed were nowhere near what he had expected.

"I would've been happy for you," Hardcastle said softly.

McCormick's anger dissolved immediately as he heard the simple truth in the answer. He matched the judge's tone. "I know you would've, Judge; I'm sorry."

Hardcastle smiled gently. "Nothin' to apologize for, kiddo. I wish I had a better answer for you. If you want, I can go back to my 'letter of the law routine'."

"Nah, that's okay," McCormick replied with a grin. "I wish you had been sure back then, but I'll settle for you being sure now." He paused as he tried to put the pieces together, and wondered if he should pursue the answer he really wanted to know.

"So you gave me a recommendation to the parole board, huh?" He figured stalling for time was okay.

"Sure. I never wanted you to be inside forever, and the warden said you had been behaving yourself; I figured it was the least I could do."

"Guilty conscience?" McCormick teased. But when the judge glanced quickly away, McCormick understood he had hit closer to home than he had intended.

"Maybe." Hardcastle forced the word from his throat; he wanted to see this through tonight. He continued with his thoughts. "But mostly, I didn't want Quentin to define the rest of your life. You know, the penal system is supposed to be as much about rehabilitation as it is punishment, but it doesn't always work out that way. When you were in my court, I thought you had something...special—in spite of your attitude—and I didn't want that to be taken from you." The judge shrugged. "You were much more likely to survive outside than in."

"And is that when you thought of bringing me here?" McCormick asked quietly, not wanting to break the spell of self-revelation.

"Not exactly, but it wasn't long after that. You know I was keeping tabs on you after you got out- -"

"Yeah, I know," McCormick interrupted sardonically, "I was there, remember?"

Hardcastle grinned. "Really can't help yourself, can you kiddo?"

McCormick returned the grin. "Sorry; go ahead. You won't hear another peep outta me."

"That'd be a switch," Hardcastle muttered under his breath, but McCormick knew there was no true anger in the sentiment.

"Anyway, I knew I needed someone to be my fast gun, and I told you I thought you had something kinda special going on. I don't think I can be much more specific than that, kiddo." Hardcastle trailed off momentarily, considering, determined to give the kid some kind of answer. "Maybe it was your energy, or your intensity, or the fact that you couldn't seem to lie even when it would've been in your best interest. Or maybe—you'll like this—maybe it was even your wise-ass jokes. You crack me up, kid, and you have since day one."

McCormick stared at the judge, stunned, a huge smile spreading slowly across his face. He thought he might've been less surprised had Hardcastle suddenly sprouted wings and flown out to sea. More importantly, he thought this answer was worth a three year wait.

"Anyway," Hardcastle continued, "I wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you were keeping clean on your parole. I was planning on meeting with you after I officially retired to talk about my project, but then you showed up in my court again. I'll tell you the truth; I was disappointed. And I was scared. Taking the Coyote was stupid, kiddo; third felony offense before you even served your whole sentence for the second...you were looking at serious time inside."

"Wait a minute," McCormick interrupted. "I hate to say it, but you have lost me now. Disappointed I'll buy, but scared? I was the one looking at jail time, Judge; what did you have to be scared about?"

Hardcastle rolled his eyes, and hoped enough light was remaining for McCormick to get the full effect. "Try and stay with me here, McCormick," he said in his best long-suffering tone. "If you hadn't been convicted for the Porsche, then the beef with the Coyote would've been number two instead of number three, which makes a big difference when you're dishing out the years. So, **_if_** I made a mistake in upholding the verdict in the original trial, then I'm directly responsible for a much more unforgiving sentence than you might've otherwise received. Who needs that kind of pressure?"

McCormick stared again. He didn't think he had ever been struck speechless so many times in such a short span of time. "You really did have a guilty conscience!" he finally exclaimed.

"Maybe just a little bit," Hardcastle grinned, holding his thumb and forefinger close together to illustrate his point. "But I finally reminded myself I wasn't the one who took the Coyote.

"At any rate, kiddo, that's how it all came to be. Asking you to come here- -"

"Blackmailing me," McCormick interjected with a grin.

"Was just the best idea I could come up with at the time," the judge continued as if McCormick hadn't spoken. "I figured it would be the best thing for both of us." With those words, Hardcastle swung his legs around and stretched himself back onto the lounge chair. He took a long drink of his beer and relaxed. Overall, that had been easier than he would've ever imagined.

McCormick stared for another moment, and then lay back out on his own chair. Sitting in the growing darkness, he smiled to himself. Thirty minutes ago, he would've sworn he was as content as he could possibly be. He knew now that he would've been wrong.

He swallowed the last of his beer, then spoke. "Best thing for both of us, huh, Judge?" he repeated, testing out the idea. Yeah, he thought that was absolutely it.

McCormick glanced over at his best friend. "It must be hard, being right all the time, Judge." He grinned suddenly. "And if just once or twice maybe you weren't, well...we'll just let that be our secret, okay?"

Hardcastle smiled, basking in the warmth of the evening breeze and the deep friendship. "Now you're cookin', kiddo."


End file.
